Appreciation
by bleedforyou
Summary: Harry/Draco. After three years away from London, Draco learns something called Appreciation. And as Harry is turning 21, he finds that maybe Malfoy isn't as bad as he used to be. Compliant with DH, not with epilogue. Warning: slash. don't like, don't read
1. Chapter 1

Title: Appreciation  
Pairings/Characters: Harry/ Draco; Ron/Hermione  
Rating: PG-13  
Word count: ~7,000  
Genre: Romance  
Summary: After three years away from London, Draco learns something called Appreciation. And as Harry is turning 21, he finds that maybe Malfoy isn't as bad as he used to be.  
Warnings: slash. some profanity.  
Beta (if any): None  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. No copyright infringement intended.

DM

Draco Malfoy was intelligent. There was no fighting it—it was true and he knew it. There were things he knew, things that he was capable of doing, which the other boys his age couldn't even dream of knowing. But one thing Draco did _not _know before the war was the word "appreciation".

Sure, he knew its definition— an act of gratitude and thankful recognition—but he had never actually felt it before. Maybe when he was a child, and he thankfully recognized his loving mother and nice broomstick. But it was _nothing_ compared to Draco's appreciation now.

It was as if he were in a cocoon for his whole life, and just then, he was blossoming into a butterfly—beautiful without being vain, and loving with lots of humility, and most of all… appreciating.

After the War, the Malfoy family wanted to spend time alone, to wither in grief and loss, as many families did. They had lost the war—a feeling that was not even _close_ to the loss of their family, friends, allies, and that damn Malfoy _pride_.

While Malfoy manor was being renovated after the damage of the War, the family moved and bought a small villa in South France. They had lost most of their fortune in the punishment for their involvement in the war, but they had some left. It was beautiful and peaceful, but it did not assuage the heartache or despair for a while, until their family came to an understanding and they began to look to each other for comfort.

Over the three years, Draco did not change very much on the outside. No, he was still just as breathtakingly attractive with his paleness and sharp features; but on the inside, he could feel the change… from his perfect white hair down to his manicured toenails. Draco had begun to _appreciate_ things.

He appreciated his life, family, childhood, manners and elegance. He appreciated the world's beauty and knowledge—taking long walks down France's borders, and reading novels about the many cultures that the world offered. He learned what grace and couture really meant, and he understood how to apply them now.

It wasn't about getting what you wanted, about being spoiled rotten as he was before… it was more about getting what you _needed_, in the way that hurt less people. Life was about getting what your heart truly desired—all though Draco hadn't figured exactly what it _was _just yet, but he was working on it, which was remarkable.

Oh yes, he started to see things completely differently. He wrote to his 'friends', who were all around the world now—living with their various broken families—and they all noticed a change as well, but they said nothing of it. They were not changing themselves, and he took notice of this. He became more and more distant with them, and then finally their communications came to a healthy end.

He began to appreciate muggles as well. How had he never noticed all of their fascinating technology and interesting cultures? And suddenly, he could not get enough of it—he submerged himself in learning about these humans that he had scorned for the past 18 years. And although his parents were not completely on board with the muggle association, his mother still enjoyed her laptop and his father bought many televisions.

Mostly, Draco loved muggle music. He listened to a myriad of varieties, picking and choosing his favorites while tasting new ones everyday. He was just starting on American music, and he knew that would take another few years to delve into completely.

Over the time period, Draco took up photography. Using both muggle and wizard cameras, he saw the world in a new way, and with this artistic talent, he also discovered something else as well… Draco appreciated _men_.

He saw how beautiful they were—they're postures and mannerisms. He realized he was homosexual, and it didn't bother him a bit. It _was _a bit startling, because although he knew about the whole concept, he had never met a gay person before, and could only read about it in the many books he had… until that day in the coffee shop of course.

He had been on a jog down the beach in France, and had seen a small coffee shop. He went inside and purchased a latte—he enjoyed coffee even more than tea now—and saw a man sitting at the table next to him. At first, he noticed how engrossed the man was in the sleek black muggle camera that his lithe fingers held.

Then, he saw how…attractive he was. It threw Draco off for a bit_—did he just describe a man as attractive?_ But it was not as distracting as what he noticed next—the man had a wand in this pocket. He could tell when the man moved his legs to the side, accepting his drink from the waitress.

His eyes widened, and he thought for a few minutes on how to engage this gorgeous man—_how did he go from attractive to gorgeous?_—in conversation.

He started with a friendly hello tossing in a remark about the weather, and from there he began his relationship with Gaspard. Dazzling, commanding, irresistible Gaspard. He was about as French as you could get, but he was kind and observant. Not only was he an excellent wizard—something Draco _appreciated_—but he was also a wonderful photographer. Gaspard took Draco to his photography studio and they talked for hours on the subject.

Gaspard had broken English that he learned from his mother, and Draco could only barely converse in French, but they began an evolving friendship. They were both intelligent and learned from each other, and Draco became comfortable with his own sexuality as Gaspard explained it.

Of course, after months of learning photography and _other things_ from Gaspard, the young Malfoy brought him home to his parents. He was as nervous as a snowman on a sunny day—but things went better than expected.

Lucius and Narcissa had begun their own evolving, now realizing how many horrible things they had done, and what was truly important to them. _Needless blood wars or a loving family?_

They had been a bit unnerved at Draco's new discovery—_is this the end of the Malfoy bloodline?_—but at least Draco was safe, and happy.

After the relationship ended—because of course it would end, Gaspard was _way _too demanding of him—Draco remained in love with photography and his mother had taken notice of his change. She enjoyed it when he took her on his walks and discussed the many issues of the world as he took thousands of pictures. She observed his carefulness with the camera and his unique view of the world. Narcissa decided it was time for her family to go back to their home and clean their name from its foul connotation back in London.

And here, at this moment was one Draco Malfoy, carefully packing his clothing and camera equipment into his bags, his anxiety getting the best of him.

"Draco, you must trust yourself," Narcissa said, sitting on his bed and watching him with a hawk-like stare. "I know you'll be fine."

"Mother, I don't think so. England is… I just don't think I'll fit in there anymore," he said delicately. All of his movements were delicate, almost graceful in a way that made your heart ache. His mother knew it wouldn't be long before her son was in love—she could feel it in her bones.

"Don't let your father hear you talking that way," she laughed lightly. She was still as beautiful as she once was, but now slight wrinkles decorated her face and her eyes were full of wisdom. "You know what he says… _A Malfoy can do whatever he wants, whenever he wants_."

"Yes, but why must you give _me _the responsibility of clearing our name? You know I'll never be accepted..." he said, worriedly biting his lip. His father would've glared at the gesture, but his mother smiled at her son. "It's been two years, and none of my past friends will be there. I'm a different person, what will I do?"

He sounded whiny and pathetic, but it was safe to talk to his mother this way—she seemed to understand him when no one else could.

"You'll achieve it, son. You are the new face of the Malfoy family, and you will do the _right _thing. I know we can trust you with this," she kissed his forehead and left to resume her own packing.

Draco sat heavily on the bed and took a sip of his coffee. _How had he lived without coffee for 17 years?!_ Reaching over, he opened the drawer of his night table and pulled out an old newspaper clipping that came only a few months after they moved to France.

_**HARRY POTTER, SAVIOR OF WORLD, BECOMES AUROR. **_He sighed and looked down at the picture of his childhood rival; feeling ridiculously worried all over again. Those green eyes gazed up at him and he bit down harder on his lip.

Yes, he appreciated a lot of things now, and he had thankful recognition. But most of all, he appreciated Harry fucking Potter.

**A/N**: Please comment/review! This is my first Harry Potter fic, so I need all the help I can get! Thank you!


	2. Chapter 2

HP

Honestly, Harry really didn't know if he was prepared to open his eyes that morning. He could feel the withering hangover already begin, and his head was pounding to match his heartbeat.

He heard his bedroom door open quietly and a small female giggle erupted. He screwed his shut even tighter and turned to his side, hearing a scrape as the curtains were opened to reveal daylight.

He vaguely remembered coming back from the club last night with Ron and Hermione… they had dropped him home and then…his roommate helped him into bed. He also remembered getting very drunk and dancing with a gorgeous bartender on a table to a song about feeling magic every night. _I wonder what happened to him. He was very friendly_. His raging libido liked the man, at least.

"So," a soft voice murmured close to his ear as she sat on the bed next to him. "Mr. I'm-gonna-drink-till-I-can't-remember-my-name…how does the hangover feel?"

He simply groaned in reply, reaching out to try and push her away. She caught his arm and abruptly bent it until he whimpered and pulled it back. Curse her for being such a strong fighter—with and without a wand.

"Brat," he whispered, unable to sound fierce with the pounding headache. At least she was a _quiet_ brat.

"Oh!" She shouted suddenly. He yelped slightly and put his hands over his ears. "Here I was being so nice and quiet, because I know it's your birthday, and I wanted to be the first to say Happy Birthday, and you call me names—"

"Okay," he sat up and finally opened his eyes blearily, reaching out and putting a hand over her mouth. He knew it would be easier than arguing with her. "I appreciate you being quiet, sorry for calling you a brat."

"Hm." She looked smug under his hand and he pulled his hand back before she could bend it backwards again. "That's what I thought. Happy birthday, by the way. And I made some coffee to go with the hangover potion. That stuff tastes nasty on its' own."

He smiled and put a hand through his hair ruggedly, but it was just as messy as it usually was. "Thanks, Mia. For both."

"Yeah yeah, whatever, punk," she said, just before she unceremoniously pushed him off the bed.

"Hey!" He yelped again, surprised. He heard her laugh and just as he grabbed his wand from under the pillow, she closed the door, making his stinging hex bounce off uselessly.

"Hurry up, work starts in fifteen minutes!" She called through the door.

He got up and used his wand to make his bed, then slouched over to his bathroom. While he waited for the water in the shower to warm up, he stripped off his pajamas and got in, shivering from the heat and then relaxing as he soaped up.

Harry had been living with Mia for two or three years now, and he was used to having the little brat around. They took care of each other, and had become best friends since they first got partnered back in auror-training. He could remember it clearly as if it were yesterday…

_He had entered training feeling nervous without Ron (who was running the joke shop with his brother) or Hermione (who was back at Hogwarts for her seventh year). _

_He honestly didn't know who to sit with and the entire room seemed to already be partnered up, and so he stalked to the back row, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Everyone was staring at him and whispering, but he was used to that. He finally stopped and saw a girl who was _not_ looking at him, but actually looking at nothing, bored already—her feet were up on her desk and she was curling a lock of hair around her finger lazily—and sat next to her. _

_He introduced himself quietly, and was amazed when she introduced herself with a small smile and seemed to really not recognize him—that was a shock. She spoke offhandedly, as if she honestly didn't care what anyone though, introducing herself as "Mia Hawthorne." After a few moments, she paused and noticed that everyone was staring at them, and took her feet off the desk. _

"_Are you the teacher or something?" She asked, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. He noticed she had an odd accent, as if she wasn't from England. _

_Later, found out that she had just come from America, a fact that she was_ very_ proud of. She had long hair down to her elbows that matched his own jet-black hair color. With an almost calculating look in her dark brown eyes, she stared at him._

"_No, um… people just usually act that way around me," he sighed. If this girl really didn't know who he was, should he push his luck?_

"_Well, all right," she shrugged and he relaxed. _

_Just then, the teacher really did come in and everyone straightened up and listened closely as he told everyone to choose a partner that they would be willing to work and live with for the next year and half. _

_Harry tensed again and looked at the girl, who simply smirked at him. _

"_Wanna be partners, Mr. Popular?" She asked—straightforward and blunt. Little did he know, that when he nodded, he would be agreeing to a life-changing friendship. _

At present, he got out of the shower and rubbed himself dry, pulling on his Auror robes and grunting at his reflection in the mirror. In his eyes, he looked the same, but Hermione said he had grown more handsome the last few years (although that may have been just to rile up Ron, who was defensive of just about everything).

Well, there was a change that was obvious—he had been subjected to Ginny's wand and she had rid him of his glasses forever, so now his green eyes would never be hidden behind those rounded frames anymore.

And a change that was _not_ as obvious. He smirked and remembered the bartender from last night again. And he also remembered when he had shouted towards Hermione over the loud thumping club music: "I'm going to drink until I can't remember who the hell Harry Potter is!"

He winced at the memory and left his room, going into their kitchen where Mia was sitting at the small dining table and reading from their case folder while sipping her coffee. He grabbed his own mug from the counter and gulped some down, relishing the feel of the hangover potion as it got rid of his headache. He relaxed and reached over to her plate, sneaking the remains of her toast and popping it into his mouth.

Over time, they had grown close, being excellent partners (they had already solved tons of cases together) and also excellent roommates. They didn't need to live together anymore for training, but it was just easy and so they kept the same arrangement. He didn't know why, but he was extremely overprotective of her, as if she were his little sister…even though she was from a pureblood family in America and only a few months younger than him.

Mia had been the one to help him discover that he was gay—something he would _never _have guessed at until she mentioned it last year and he had argued profusely, not taking it seriously. He realized she was right when he simply lost interest sexually with Ginny, and they broke up on friendly terms. After that, he went through various encounters with men, and his friends had helped him through it.

The world had just discovered his sexuality a few months ago, and he was brought back into the limelight with a vengeance— as smothering as they were, he just had to grit his teeth and get through it, and now they had just finally started backing off. Right now, he was single, and he was just trying to enjoy life as much as "the boy who lived" possibly could.

"Harry," Mia said. He looked up, but she wasn't looking at him, she was still reading, biting down on her lip while pondering the paper in front of her.

"What is it?" He asked, looking over at the case folder. She pushed it towards him with her trademark smirk on her face.

It wasn't a case that she was reading, but actually, it was a letter from Kingsley addressed to her.

_Dear Auror Hawthorne,_

_I hope this letter reaches you in good health this morning. _

_I have arranged a ministry gala to occur tonight, and this news was kept under wraps because I know how much Harry hates to attend these parties. _

_Please, if you can find it in your power, persuade Auror Potter to come tonight. Tell him it's not a birthday celebration, so he has no need to be agitated, but it _is_ mandatory that he be there. _

_I want to personally make sure that he knows the Ministry still approves of him, and that he has nothing to be ashamed of. _

_See you both tonight at 7 sharp in the Ministry banquet hall,_

_Kingsley Shacklebolt _

_Minister of Magic_

He looked up from the letter and glared at Mia, almost daring her to make a comment. She bit her lip again, and just barely hid a grin. _Nothing to be ashamed of_. As if he _was_ ashamed of being gay—which he most definitely was not.

"I'm not going to a bloody _Ministry gala_ on the night of my 21st birthday," he said through gritted teeth.

"Ha, as if you have a choice, punk," she said. She always called him punk and he always called her brat.

"I'm not going."

"He said '_if you can find it in your power'_ and I assure you, I will use every play in the book to use my _power_," she sneered playfully. She knew he would go—he wouldn't disappoint Kingsley like that.

"If you went to Hogwarts, there is _no doubt _you would be in Slytherin."

"What's a Slytherin?" She asked, confused. "Is that a disease?"

And with that, they left for work.

**A/N**: Please comment/review! This is my first Harry Potter fic, so I need all the help I can get! Thank you!


	3. Chapter 3

DM

Destiny had played a few bad jokes in his life, but never this cruel.

Draco had just sat down in the muggle coffee shop down the road from the Ministry—he decided to relax with a cup of java before his meeting with the minister, which was at 12:45—when he looked up and saw someone who he had _not _wanted to meet like this.

He hadn't had time to fix his hair or straighten his robes or anything! He hoped he would simply pass by the shop and not come in, but of course, Draco's luck was never wonderful—there he was, walking into the shop, looking like an angel. He was in the country for five days only, and already he runs into his old nemesis. How was that fair?

He no longer wore those hideous glasses, his hair was brilliantly crazy (as if he happily just got shagged) and his Auror robes hung perfectly off of his lean body that had filled out over the last few years.

Thank God he had chosen a seat way in the back in the shop behind a ledge, so he could see Potter without being detected himself. Yes, he appreciated the boy saving his life, but now was _not _the time for thanking.

Draco tried not to gape—that would be particularly un-Malfoy-like—but he couldn't help himself. The sun glared off of Potter's face and he seemed relaxed and nothing like the scrawny boy he was in school. He strode up to the counter gracefully and started to order drinks while a girl came in with matching Auror robes, laughing and punching Potter in the shoulder. Draco felt his inside's clench and he gripped his coffee cup tightly, eyes narrowing.

_Wait a moment_, he thought angrily. _Am I jealous?! Of someone with _Potter_? That's ridiculous_.

Yes, he was attractive (perfect actually) but that didn't mean he _liked_ him!

But why would it matter if Potter was with a girl—he had read up on all the Daily Prophet's that he missed while gone—and Potter was as much of a flamer as he was. _That _was a surprise. Potter, the savior of the world liked cock?

While he was reading that piece of information, he nearly choked on his pumpkin juice and even his mother had unleashed an uncharacteristic chuckle at the news.

Yes, now that he looked closer, he saw that the girl and Potter acted in a friendly non-romantic way, when he pushed her away playfully, laughing. They both even had the same tan skin and jet-black hair. But he knew for a fact that Potter didn't have any siblings.

He waited for a moment for them to walk slightly to the right, and suddenly he got up, practically slinking to the walls as he made his way out of the coffee shop. _Please tell me I just imagined Potter turning—please don't let him see me!_

~*~

HP

Had he just seen _Draco Malfoy_ slink out of the coffee shop?! He whipped his head around and stared through the glass window of the shop, but he could not see any pale blonde hair. He had just imagined it, perhaps.

After all, the Malfoys had disappeared after the War, why would they show up now?

"Dude, she called your name like five times," Mia kicked him in the shin lightly and he looked up.

The waitress was standing on the other side of the counter and staring at him, waiting for him to come get his drink.

Mia snickered and he glared at her, accepting the peppermint mocha (it was his favorite) and smiling at the woman. He was about to pay, but a hand smacked his away.

"Harry, it's _your_ birthday, you can't pay today," Hermione said from behind him. He hadn't even noticed her come into the shop, but smiled at her and Ron, who had trailed in afterwards.

Mia groaned slightly under her breath and Harry grinned at her, poking her in the ribs. Mia and Ron practically despised each other—always arguing and fighting…they could barely stay in the same room as each other.

"I hate coffee," Ron said, earning a heated glare from Mia (who thought coffee was the single best thing on Earth), and resting his hand on Hermione's waist. "Two tall tea lattes for us."

They all paid and got their drinks, going over to their usual table. Every couple days, they came to this coffee shop for their lunch, and it was nice to get away from work and just relax with his friends for a while.

"If you hate coffee so much, it's really smart of you to come to a _coffee shop_, Weasley," Mia said almost menacingly towards Ron across the table. "And then, every freakin' time, you say _'I hate coffee!'_"

"Hey, if I wanted to ask a short American, I would have, but I _didn't_," he said with the same chilly tone.

"Guys," Harry groaned before Mia could reply. "Really, not on my birthday, at least."

They both grit their teeth and looked away. Harry rolled his eyes and sighed.

Hermione interrupted the silence and started conversing on her new standpoint with house-elf law until her wand started glowing lightly—a new development in the Ministry, meaning that the owner of the wand was needed in their office. The idea had actually came from their own DA coins, but it was only used for the Heads of the departments.

"Oh they must need me back for the rest of the paperwork," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "I swear; they can't get anything done on their own!"

"It's okay, we should be getting back too," Harry said, looking at the thoroughly-scratched-watch that the Weasley's had given him on his 17th birthday—_exactly three years ago,_ he thought, as he was now 20. "Mia and I have to get back to work on a difficult case involving some stolen dragon eggs…"

"Yeah, _we _have to go work on a case. Because _we're _partners. Harry and I." Mia smirked boastfully, causing Ron to turn slightly red with anger.

Their mutiny first began when Ron had decided to join the Auror forces a year after Harry had, and wanted Harry to be his partner. Harry was already partnered with Mia, so he couldn't say yes. Of course, Ron had simply partnered up with Seamus Finnegan, because it honestly wasn't too big of a deal, but he just hated how Mia 'stole' Harry.

Honestly, Harry loved both of them the same, but since Mia was alone in England, he couldn't just drop her. He wished they wouldn't fight, but Hermione said not to worry about it, that it was all 'good fun'. _Easy for her to say, since they weren't fighting over her—_shehad relaxed so much in the last few years, it was weird.

"Mia, what are you wearing tonight, to the gala?" Hermione asked as they walked back to the Ministry.

"Oh, I've got this brilliant dress I bought at a small muggle boutique—"

"You're going to wear a _muggle_ dress?" Ron interrupted. Ooh, Mia would not like _that_. She hated being interrupted. "To a Ministry gala? Are you trying to give more attention to the _Daily_ _Prophet_? As if Harry doesn't have enough to deal with."

"Oh right, Weasley, how silly of me," she said, eyes widening. _Here we go again_, Harry thought. "How could I not think of the stupid newspaper while choosing my outfit? You're going to have to help me with my wardrobe—I'm sure you know_ all_ about girl's clothing. In fact, why don't you wear the dress instead? It's strapless and I'm sure it'll go great with your disgusting complexion—"

"Okay, forget it!" He growled at her.

"I wish I could forget you!" She snarled back.

"You're so—" Ron started.

"All righty, we're off!" Harry barked, pulling Mia's arm to the elevators.

"See you guys tonight!" Hermione said, waving, oblivious to the hateful glaring around her. The elevator doors whooshed close and Harry let out a sigh of relief—at least no wands were pulled out today.

"He's so _annoying_," Mia pursed her lips and crossed her arms.

"Can you not be the bigger person and just ignore him?" When he got silence as an answer, he sighed. "Fine, can we just focus on the case, brat?"

Harry grinned at her and handed her the case file. She reluctantly opened it and started reading.

Just then, the elevator doors opened again while people got on and off, and Harry saw him— he knew it! He didn't imagine anything!

Malfoy looked…_wow, how had I not noticed how… good-looking… he was?_ _Was it because I didn't know I was gay, or because I hated him_? Well, he hadn't seen him in three years, and he most certainly did not look like the boy he hated in school.

He was talking to the Minister and smiling, shaking his hand. He had a beautiful smile, almost like a Greek God because of how pale he was.

Just then, they both caught each other's eyes—gray met green—and Harry shivered. Was he _attracted _to Malfoy? That was impossible. Right?

He was saved from his inner questioning when the elevator doors closed, breaking their eye contact. Harry shook his head to get a grip on himself. Maybe he was just sex-deprived and stressed because of the gala tonight… yeah, that was it.

"Maybe giner was right…I shouldn't wear the dress—I should just wear normal dress robes, right?" Mia said, biting her lip.

"Wait, what? You were so excited about the dress!" Harry looked over at her.

"Nah, I mean, its fine…don't want the newspapers to pay extra attention…"

"Oh, Mia, that's ridiculous," he said gently, reassuring her. "You're going to wear that dress; I don't care what the press says."

She grinned and gave him a small hug as they entered their shared office.

"Okay, now let's get back on this case, punk," she said, opening the file.

**A/N**: Please comment/review! This is my first Harry Potter fic, so I need all the help I can get! Thank you!


	4. Chapter 4

DM

"Mother, I have nothing to _wear_!" Draco whined almost pathetically from inside his closet. Curse the Minister for inviting him to this dumb Ministry Gala on his first week back in London. Although of course, he wasn't _really_ complaining—the Minister inviting him to a Gala was precisely the thing that would start the Malfoy-name-healing-process-mission that Draco was now fully operating.

"Now Draco dear, don't be such a pygmy puff," Narcissa replied, then continued to file her nails to a perfect shape using the tip of her wand.

"Okay, I've decided," he said, coming out of the enormous closet. He walked over to his bed where his mother was sitting, waiting for her apt female approval.

"Finally," she murmured, looking up. "Oh…"

He watched as her eyes lit up and smiled.

"Good?" He asked, looking in the mirror and making a face. "I don't know if royal blue is my color…"

"Sweetheart," she said, standing up and putting an arm around his shoulders. "You look perfect. _Every_ color is your color."

"You know mother, comments like those are what made me so arrogant," he laughed.

"That's not true. Arrogance is in your blood, my dear," she smirked as she left, closing the door behind her. "And be nice to all those officials, tonight!"

"_Be nice_?" He scoffed to himself. He had no idea how to _be nice_ to people who would hate him essentially because of who he was.

_Well_, Draco thought as he entered his fireplace and prepared for the floo, _at least I can wish Potter a happy birthday. _

HP

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, Happy birthday dear Harryyyy! Happy Birthday to you!" All of his friends watched and clapped as he blew out 22 candles atop his birthday cake.

They had all decided to congregate at Ron and Hermione's house for Harry's cake cutting before they went to the Ministry Gala.

"Mm, I love cake," Mia said, reaching over and starting to cake pieces for everyone.

"You do know that cake is one of the most fattening substances a girl can eat, right?" Ron said almost casually.

Three hexes and two healed bones later—Ron, Hermione, Mia and Harry all left for the gala, apparating to the banquet hall that was just behind the Ministry.

"_Stop_ bickering! You two are worse than Rose and Hugo!" Hermione whispered fiercely as they entered.

Mia and Ron glared at each other malevolently across their reserved table.

"Interesting, I knew the Malfoy's were back, but I didn't expect him to come here," Hermione suddenly said, almost causing Harry to have whiplash as he looked around to where Hermione was facing.

"Oh Merlin! He's freakin' gorgeous—who is that?" Mia said, looking in the same direction.

Harry had to agree—Malfoy looked absolutely _stunning_ in his royal blue robes with silver etchings laced into the collar and sleeves. He was sitting and chatting politely with a man who seemed vaguely familiar, and he seemed to be enjoying himself as far as Harry could see.

"_Gorgeous_?! Did you just call Draco fucking Malfoy gorgeous?" Ron spat out, looking disgustingly between Mia and the blonde in question.

"His middle name is 'fucking'? Now I _have_ to meet him," Mia smirked.

"Who's he talking to?" Harry asked, trying to sound indifferent.

"That's Liam Riles—editor of the _Daily Prophet_," Hermione said. "I heard Malfoy was a photographer looking for work… I suppose he wants one at the _Prophet_."

"Wait, what—" Harry was about to ask when he was interrupted by Ron.

"How do you know this? And why the heck would _Malfoy_ want a job? He's probably never worked a day in his life."

Just then, the Minister walked onto stage and began his speech. Kingsley had become an excellent leader for the wizarding world after the War, and he was always a good speaker, but Harry had no idea what he was talking about today—all he could see was _Malfoy_.

"I hate that," Mia suddenly whispered to Harry. He looked over at her and saw that she wasn't even _pretending _to pay attention. She was fiddling with the strap of her green and black dress and playing with her cellphone. She always kept that little muggle device with her everywhere.

"Hating speeches isn't going to make them disappear," Harry said softly, smirking.

"No," she rolled her eyes. "I hate when the hot guys turn gay. It's like a hit to women's ego."

"Wait, what?" Harry asked, confused.

"That Draco dude. He's so cute, but he just _had_ to be gay," she said nonchalantly.

"_Gay? _Malfoy's not gay!" Harry whispered back, almost too loudly. Ron looked over and rose an eyebrow, but Harry simply shook his head.

"Yes, he is," she said.

"No, he's not."

"_Yes_, he is."

"No, I went to school with him, he's not. He may act like a poof, but he's not one. He was actually pretty popular with the girls back in our day. Well, with Slytherin girls at least," Harry muttered.

"How much do you wanna bet?!" Mia said, a fierce look in her eyes. "When the dancing starts, ask him for a dance."

"He would never dance with me—we _hated _each other back in school," Harry shook his head.

"Do you hate him now?" She asked.

Harry paused—thoughts quickly wrapping around his mind. _Did _he hate Malfoy? He could still be the annoying, pompous, git he always was, but certainly looked and acted different. Where was the sneer and stiff posture that he always presented back in Hogwarts?

Now Malfoy was simply leaning back in his chair, an interested and believable look on his face. Had three years been enough to erase the snarky git's horrible attitudes? Harry doubted it.

"I don't _hate_ him, but I don't like him either."

"Fine," she said. "_I'll_ ask him."

"No, no you won't."

"Then you do it."

"No!"

"Then I will."

"_No!_"

"Potter, I'm going to punch you in the face—why are you so stubborn? Don't you _want_ to find a hot boy to date and live happily ever after?"

"I—" Harry started, but was interrupted by the swell of music that started up. He looked over to the stage. Apparently, the Minister was done speaking and therefore the band—some new Irish/Swedish mix—had started to play.

People had begun to drift onto the dance floor that was strategically placed in the middle of the room, with dimmer lights. Ron and Hermione stood up and joined the soft dancing.

"Come on Potter, be a brave little Griffindro or whatever," Mia punched him in the shoulder playfully.

"It's _Gryffindor_. And no."

"I'll do the laundry for the next month," Mia rose an eyebrow.

"Oh, you play dirty. Fine, fine. But you have to do the colors and whites separately—"

"Oh stop talking to _me_ and go talk to that piece of fine meat—"

"_Must_ you be so crude?"

"I'm American, baby," she grinned before practically pushing him off his seat.

He nervously stood up and forced his legs to move towards Malfoy's table. Just as he came a few feet close, Malfoy suddenly looked up and at him—all the blood ran from Harry's body towards his head, making him slightly dizzy.

_Why am I getting so worked up over MALFOY?! I don't like him. I don't even know if he's gay or not! _Harry thought frantically as he stared at Malfoy.

"So, Potter," Malfoy spoke, causing Harry's heart to thud rapidly. _When the hell did Malfoy's voice become so hot? _"Are you going to stand there and stare, or are you going to say something?"

"Why are you here?" Harry blurted out. _Oh bollocks! That's NOT what I meant to say_.

Draco's left eyebrow rose as he stared at Harry carefully. And just then, Harry realized he thought of Malfoy as _Draco_.

"I mean… It's interesting to see you here… it's been three years," Harry forced himself to say.

"Yes, well… I decided it was time for a little comeback tour," Draco smiled.

It was the smile that did it.

"Come dance with me," Harry said.

Apparently, his brain and his mouth were no longer working together. His brain was still short-circuiting from the brilliance of Malfoys smile.

"I suppose that wasn't really a question… but all right," Draco said, still smiling. He stood up with a grace that Harry could only dream of, and took a hold of Harry's arm, leading him to the dance floor.

Several thoughts raced in Harry's brain at once.

_I'm about to dance with Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy is gay. I'm very very attracted to him at the moment. Draco Malfoy is touching my hand and he just gave me the chills because his hand feels so perfect in mine…_

And on and on Harry's thoughts became fuddled in Draco's embrace as they started to _dance_. Harry didn't call it so much dancing as _breathing _and _performing _together. His nerves were stretched tight but his body was loose, reacting and acting with Draco's perfectly.

_Where is this coming from? I can't dance!_

It didn't matter that he couldn't dance. It didn't matter that this was _Draco Malfoy _and he was _Harry Potter_. All that mattered was that he could feel Draco's breath against his neck because Draco was curled into him and that was where he _belonged_.

"Take me outside, Potter. It's too hot in here," Draco's voice was like a siren in Harry's ears, pounding and irresistible.

With a grace he _did not_ have, Harry swirled Draco in his arms and towards the exit, barely hearing his name being called by a distinctly familiar male voice. _Ron can deal with it, _his inner voice cheered as he and Draco finally got out of the hall and outside.

It was bloody _raining_, because this was London, and they didn't have much shelter, so Harry and Draco were quickly drenched.

"_Raindrops are falling on my head,_" a soft voice was singing in his ear. He closed his eyes and leaned against the brick wall, only barely aware that they were in some alley in the middle of London at night.

"Draco…" he murmered. "What's happened with you? You're so…"

"Different?" He asked softly. "I've…changed in the last three years, Potter. I've made myself appreciate _life_ for what it is. And mostly—_mostly_—because of you."

This made Harry open his eyes and look straight into Draco's gray ones.

"What do you mean?"


	5. Chapter 5

DM

Draco had never wanted anything more in his life, then he did Harry Potter in that moment. In the rain, in this alley, in his very soul—he wanted this man.

Potter looked elegant without being pompous in his simple black and dark red robes. His hair was sticking to his forehead because of the rain and without the glasses on— Draco could see straight into those deep green eyes and see truth and sincerity in them.

"I mean… when you saved my life, you _changed_ me. My soul—it felt broken and hollow. When I went away, all I could think about was that I never thanked you. Without you, I wouldn't be standing here right now. I wouldn't be able to do this…"

And with that, Draco kissed Potter right on the mouth. Those lips—those crazily natural-pouted lips—were his for the taking, because Potter moved his lips so _perfectly_ in sync with Draco's.

And so, Draco gave it everything he had, and he poured out every bit of his gratitude, apologies and arousal in one long, breathtaking kiss.

Apparently, it took _all _of their breaths, because when they finally parted, with another sweet graze of those lips, they took in gulps of cold rainy air to fill their lungs.

"You should thank me more often," Potter chuckled weakly, staring at him.

"Don't expect it," Draco said just as softly. "Well, you can expect the kissing, just not the thanking."

"Really?"

And damn it all—Potter's voice sounded so _hopeful_, that Draco's _heart_ was _hurting_ from the blissfulness of the moment.

"If you promise to reciprocate," Draco murmured.

"Oh, I promise to do more than just _reciprocate_," Potter said—a challenge clear in his tone.

"Well then Potter, get on with it," Draco smirked.

"Draco," he frowned. "We're standing in the rain, we just had a brilliant dance and kiss. The least you can do is call me by my first name."

"Ah, if you insist… Isn't it like, Harkin, or something like that?"

"Ha, ha, ha. When did you get so hilarious," Harry said sarcastically, rolling his eyes towards the sky.

"I've _always_ been hilarious. You were just too slow to realize it."

"Oh?" He stared down at Draco, and took his face into his hands, causing Draco's heart to stutter pathetically. "I'll speed it up, from now on."

And with that, Harry _reciprocated_ quite wonderfully.


End file.
